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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386320">Mind Games</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentevilxisuma/pseuds/residentevilxisuma'>residentevilxisuma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Crown AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hermitcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beating, Begging, Choking, Collars, Dehumanization, Dismemberment, Gen, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Master/Pet Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Panic Attacks, Restraints, Self-Harm, Torture, Whipping, compulsion to obey, hc crown au, magical conditioning, some gore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:15:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentevilxisuma/pseuds/residentevilxisuma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the King's Consort is a game, and it's one that Evil X intends to win. Unfortunately for him, the deck is not stacked in his favor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Crown AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Consort."</p><p>Evil X does not deign Wels with his attention. There was no command in that one word. He doesn't feel compelled to obey, so he doesn't acknowledge the King.</p><p>"<em>Consort</em>." Wels repeats more forcefully. Evil X grits his teeth, but still does not turn to Wels, not until he feels sharp fingers digging into his jaw, yanking his head to the side until his eyes meet the King's. Wels glares, and Evil X glares back, his lip curling ever so slightly into a sneer. "When I speak to you, Consort, I expect a response."</p><p>A statement. Not a command. He's free to continue ignoring Wels, for now. </p><p>"I understand, my King," Evil X says aloud. In his head he growls, <em> go to hell, Wels. </em></p><p>He's sure to use Wels's real name whenever he curses him. He had already long since been ordered to refer to the man as my King, but the order had been specific. <em> When you speak, </em> Wels had said. So when he speaks he calls him my King, and when he thinks he calls him Wels. He wonders if Wels can feel it when Evil X thinks using his real name. He hopes that he can, that he feels a little twinge of annoyance every time he does.</p><p>Wels's grip on his face loosens, and Evil X relaxes just a fraction. The King's scowl remains. "It's good that you know your place, Consort."</p><p>"Yes, my King," Evil X says. He wasn't allowed to talk back anymore. It was one of the first things Wels had stolen from Evil X, his ability to talk back. Where he once might have responded with a smart ass remark, he simply says <em> yes, my King, </em> or <em> no, my King, </em> or <em> I understand, my King. </em> He contributed as little to the conversation as he possibly could. He thinks Wels might find it too rewarding, though. He adds a <em> fuck you, Wels </em> to his tally of mental cursing for good measure.</p><p>Wels finally releases his jaw, moving his hand to instead stroke Evil X's cheek, caressing where his nails had just dug little crescent shaped indents into his skin, a look in his eyes that he reserves for all his fondest possessions. It sickens Evil X. </p><p>He feels a thumb against his lip, a silent command to open up, but not literal enough for Evil X to feel compelled to obey. He does anyway, parting his lips enough for Wels to slip two fingers between them. Evil X feels them slide past his teeth and laps at them for just a moment before catching his King's eyes and biting down. </p><p>There's a dizzying blow to his head, and the next things Evil X knows he's on his hands and knees, a fist curled into his hair forcing his head up to meet Wels's livid gaze. The room spins, and he thinks were it not for Wels's fingers tugging on his head he would collapse entirely. He can feel his collar against his skin more distinctly with his neck stretched back like this. He feels the gem resting over his Adam's apple when he swallows.</p><p>"<em>Do not </em> do that again, Consort," Wels spits at him. "or your punishment will be much more severe."</p><p>Do not do <em> that </em> again. Do not bite his fingers. Do not bite his index and middle finger, on his left hand. He could still bite anywhere else, if he wanted. Evil X does his best to make a mental note of that, in case the King put any other parts of himself near enough to his mouth that he could bite them too. He doesn't care how Wels punishes him for it. He wants to see the man bleed. Out loud, he says, "I understand, my King."</p><p>Wels releases his grip on Evil X's hair, and Evil X drops his head with a huff. </p><p>"Good. On your feet, Consort. Now."</p><p>Despite the way his head still spins, Evil X climbs to his feet.</p><p>__</p><p>"Halt!"</p><p>Evil X stops dead in his tracks. The command is shouted from behind him. He can't see who it was directed at, but he knows the corridor is empty aside from himself. The command couldn't have been meant for anyone else. </p><p>He hears a clinking of armor, of boots on stone floors as the guards approach. They slow as they gain on him, and a groan follows shortly after.</p><p>"What's this? Just the Royal Slut wandering the castle." snorts one of the guards. Evil X curls his lip disdainfully. He knows what his reputation among the castle staff is. He's made no effort to correct it. He refuses to beg them to recognize his dignity. Better a royal slut than a desperate one. </p><p>One of the guards circles around front of him, and Evil X tracks him with his eyes, unmoving otherwise. The guard smirks. "Pretty thing. It's no wonder the King keeps him around."</p><p>"Can't be for any reason besides that," the other guard agrees. "He's little more than an empty-headed slut."</p><p>Evil X bares his teeth at the guard in front of him, longs for one of these imbeciles to undo his orders so he can move, so he can show them exactly what he's capable of. He wonders how much damage he could do before they're screaming for him to stop, their words binding his movements once more while they staunch bleeding wounds, blood dripping down his chin from where his teeth met neck. </p><p>But they do not undo his orders and he does not rip arteries like a ravenous wolf. Instead the guard mocks him with laughter. He feels the tip of a spear prod at his back.</p><p>"Go on, Consort, say it. Say <em> I'm an empty-headed slut."  </em></p><p>He growls and finally averts his gaze from the guard before him. It's an order, a direct and clear order, and he can only resist the urge to obey for a moment before the words slip out of his mouth like vile poison. "I'm an empty-headed slut."</p><p>Booming laughter echos in the corridor, and Evil X's face flushes. Before he can think better of it he says, <em> "I'll kill you." </em> They hadn't ordered him silent, after all. </p><p>"Oh? Is that so?" laughs the guard in front of him. </p><p>"Confidence of a fool," the other says. Evil X feels a hand on his ass and flinches, flinches again when lips brush against his neck, just above the band of his collar. "What say you show us the services you provide our King, instead?"</p><p>"What say I bite your dick off, instead?" Evil X counters. The guard in front grabs his face, tsking loudly.</p><p>"No biting," says the guard. Evil X clenches his teeth. He could still tear it off with his hands, if given the opportunity. "Be a good slut and strip for us, Consort."</p><p>His fingers find the hem of his tunic, and he imagines the guards' heads impaled on their own spears as they do.</p><p>__</p><p>"—him again—"</p><p>"—walking around like he owns the place—"</p><p>"—nothing more than the King's lapdog—"</p><p>Evil X ignores the hushed voices of the cooks as he strides through the castle kitchen. He knows they hate him, hate seeing him, hate the way he pilfers their pantry for snacks without regard to whatever recipes they might need the ingredients for. He doesn't much care. Being the King's Consort afforded him certain privileges, and he intended to capitalize on those privileges to the fullest, if for no other reason than to cause inconvenience to Wels.</p><p>He rummages through the basket-stacked shelves without much purpose. He's not all that hungry, admittedly, but he has few other places to be. It was raining, which meant the garden was out of the question, and he was loathe to stay cooped up in the King and Queen's bedchambers. </p><p>He didn't feel particularly eager to get cornered in any more empty corridors, either.</p><p>"—wrap those lips around the King's cock instead of our stock—"</p><p>"—heard he'll sleep with anyone if they ask—"</p><p>"—empty-headed slut—"</p><p>Eventually he picks out an apple—fat and red that he hopes will be juicy—and returns to the kitchen, leaving the pantry in a disarray that he knows will exasperate the cooks. It was the least he could leave them with after all their not-so-subtle gossip.</p><p>     He settles along one of the more neglected counters and watches the raindrops sliding down the window panes, pretending he doesn't hear what the cooks are saying about him now as he sinks his teeth into the flesh of his apple.</p><p>"—getting in the way—"</p><p>"—probably looking for another lay behind the King's back—"</p><p>"—could at least pull his weight if he's going to be in here—"</p><p>"And what help, exactly, would an empty-headed slut be?" Evil X snaps. The room falls to silence and he turns his gaze to glare at the cooks, a vindictive smirk playing on his lips at their flushed embarrassment. They each look away as he meets their eyes, all except for the head chef, who meets his gaze steady and with an inquisitive, concerned look in his. </p><p>Evil X averts his gaze back to the window, feels his cheeks heat as he considers what that look could have meant.</p><p>He knows the man, or knew him, once upon a time. Beef was his name. Two of his friends were taken by Wels, and shortly after he'd sworn fealty to the crown. Such a shame that they both ended up councilmen to the King while he was stuck here with the rabble. Evil X wonders how such an arrangement could come to pass. Anything to take his mind off of Beef's troubled look. </p><p>He glances back towards the head chef, and his face flushes further when he sees the man's eyes still on him. Beef was one of the few people he had yet to hear any scathing gossip out of. He can't take his mind off that look, now. What did Beef want with him? His stomach lurches as he considers the man stopping him on his way out of the kitchen, a deceptively gentle hand on the small of his back and an order back into the empty pantry.</p><p>Whatever appetite he'd managed to conjure up abandons him. Evil X sets the half-eaten apple on the counter. Beef has finally turned away, shouting instructions at the other cooks, and Evil X takes the opportunity to slink unnoticed out the door.</p><p>__</p><p>Evil X stares numbly at the mangled corpses of the guards who had brutalized him. He feels nothing. There is no satisfaction to be had by this revenge. It hadn't, after all, been his own.</p><p>He feels a hand against his back, too hard to be friendly. It presses down with purpose on the spot where all his bleeding lashes converged. The hand was a reminder of his punishment, not an attempt at comfort.</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me what these degenerates did to you?" Wels asks, his voice low with a seething rage, as unsatiated by the gory display before him as Evil X was.</p><p>"I don't know, my King," Evil X says the same as he had the last dozen times Wels had asked. He's sure if he thought on it long enough he could come up with an answer for the King, but there was none that the man would find satisfactory. Instead, Evil X does his best not to think about it at all.</p><p>Wels digs his fingers into Evil X's back, as if more pain, more punishment, will work any better to change his answer now than it had when he'd first taken the whip to him. Evil X clenches his jaw, takes shallow breaths until the pain passes, and continues to stare numbly at the guards.</p><p>"In the future," Wels growls. "I want to know when my possessions have been defiled."</p><p>A statement. Not a command. Evil X's could continue to keep his secrets, for now. </p><p>"I understand, my King."</p><p>The hand on his back relaxes and the touch becomes soft, a facsimile of comfort that makes Evil X's skin crawl.</p><p>"Good," Wels says. His hand moves to pat Evil X on the shoulder, another veiled threat, before he turns and heads back towards the castle gates, leaving Evil X alone with the bodies of the guards. Evil X stares at them until they're nothing more than indistinct shapes behind his tears. </p><p>Finally he looks away, searches the ground until he finds a hefty rock. He bends down, ignores the painful way the action stretches his back, and picks it up. With a snarl, he throws it at the guards, and feels no more satisfaction when he hears it impact his target than he felt before.</p><p>__</p><p>The King's cabinet is lavishly decorated, yet another way he impresses his wealth and power upon those under his command. Compensating, Evil X thinks, for the illegitimacy of his reign. He imagines the backhanded slap Wels would give him if he ever voiced the thought out loud, and works his jaw through a phantom pain that blooms there.</p><p>Wels guides him into the room with a hand on the small of his back, fingers digging into his skin in a silent demand that he behave. The lash marks on his back still ache at times, but were mostly healed. He isn't eager for more. </p><p>The chairs at the long table in the center of the room are already occupied by the council members, some Evil X recognizes and some he does not. Etho and Bdubs—Beef's friends—sit together across the table from the door. He sees Grian and Mumbo to one end. Each of the four wear gaudy rings, gems embedded in the center that match the one sitting over Evil X's throat. </p><p>He sees Cub and Scar together at the end of the table opposite from Grian and Mumbo. Impulse and Zedaph are near to them. None of them wear rings. Evil X curls his lip. They had all joined Wels willingly. Tango is conspicuously absent from the table, absent from Impulse and Zedaph's side. He wonders what might be the cause of that.</p><p>"Your Majesty, what is the meaning of this?" Evil X hears at the far end of the table, and turns back to stare at Mumbo, who flounders when Wels's glare joins it.</p><p>"Are you questioning the will of your King, councilman?" Wels demands. </p><p>Mumbo sputters, then quietly says, "Is it a good idea for him to be here?"</p><p>"Are you really going to question why our King is gifting us with such a lovely sight?" Grian says with a grin, ribbing his fellow playfully as he does. Evil X's cheeks heat up and he drops his eyes to the intricate carpet beneath the meeting table. Wels's hand finds its way up to his shoulder and pulls him close, half possessive and half mocking. Evil X keeps his eyes down, examining the palmettes and boteh decorating the edge of the rug as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. </p><p>He can hear the way Wels bares his teeth when he responds, "I thought it would do my pet good to see some of my work first hand. Perhaps make him more appreciative of his station in life. Isn't that right, Consort?"</p><p>Wels squeezes his shoulder, and without look up Evil X responds. "Yes, my King."</p><p>"Well..." Mumbo says. "As long as he can keep quiet, I suppose..."</p><p>"If he's a well trained pet, of course," Grian says. He issues a whistle like he's summoning a dog, and Evil X curls his lip, reluctantly turning his gaze back to Grian. "Be a good pup and keep quiet while the grown-ups are talking, Consort. You can do that, can't you?"</p><p>A command. Evil X sneers and bites out a quick, "Of course, councilman." before he's bound by his orders and his lips are sealed.</p><p>Wels releases him and takes a seat at the head of the table. Evil X wanders in the opposite direction, intent to make as much of a nuisance of himself as he can without making a sound. Grian hadn't ordered him still, after all. </p><p>He passes behind the councilman's chair and imagines wrapping his hands around his neck, squeezing until his face turns blue and the life leaves his eyes. If either of them truly needed a lesson on being quiet, Evil X thinks, it was Grian. </p><p>Instead he turns to the console table along the wall and examines the expensive bust situated on its surface as the council meeting begins. It isn't meant to be touched, so Evil X reaches his hand out and traces the curve of its cheekbone, the curls of its hair. He wonders who it's meant to depict, if anyone. A long forgotten king, or a general, perhaps. It's a wonder Wels would allow such a thing in his castle, a reminder of what he was meant to live up to. Perhaps it is no one special at all.</p><p>He glances at the meeting table, catches an expectant look from Wels that he doesn't care to analyze, and turns back to the gallery lining the wall. He passes a large potted plant and a dark oil painting on the wall behind it. He runs his fingers along the intricate carvings of the glass front cupboard that holds dozens of dusty old tomes within. Does Wels even know the titles of the books in his possession? Did they serve any purpose other than making Wels appear learned?</p><p>He comes to a narrow pedestal with a fat vase sitting on it, a bouquet of fresh flowers filling out the neck and a faint smell of perfume permeating the air around it. Without much thought, Evil X plucks a peony from the bouquet by its stem. It catches, the bouquet too full to slip a single flower from the mass. </p><p>The vase crashes to the ground before Evil X can do anything to stop it.</p><p>Sound. Noise. Loud. Smashing. Interruption. His fault. Disobedience. He had disobeyed. He had disobeyed. He had disobeyed.</p><p>He hears chair legs scraping across the floor over screaming—his screaming, he realizes dully—feels hands grabbing him, rolling him onto his back—when had he fallen?—holding him, holding his arms, his head, feels something shoved between his teeth and along with its leather he tastes copper. </p><p>He sees blurry golden hair hovering above him, his King, and then he sees nothing.</p><p>__</p><p>It's dark when he awakens, faint, flickering torchlight the only form of illumination wherever it is he finds himself. He's laying down on something soft. A bit lumpy, but better than marble floors. His head aches, his jaw especially aches. His teeth are clenched around a bit, he realizes, the strap tight around the back of his head. He tries to lift his hands to undo it, but is stopped short by shackles on his wrists. </p><p>His eyes have adjusted enough to the dim light to take in his surroundings, to take in the damp, stone walls and iron bars, and Evil X registers that he's in the dungeon. His heart misses a beat, thumps hard against his ribs, and a faint whine issues from deep in his throat. He pulls on the shackles once more, as if he had the strength in him to snap iron, and cries out again when the edges bite painfully against his wrists. He tries to sit up, but finds he doesn't have the strength for that, either.</p><p>There's a rattling, a creaking, and the iron door to his cell is opened. He whines again, struggles against his bonds even as it causes more shooting pain to flare in his arms and his neck and his head. He hears a shushing sound, keeps whining until he hears Wels voice a more clear command. "Hush now, pet."</p><p>His whining dies off into quiet, frantic and shallow breathing and the clinking of iron chain links as he continues pulling on his restraints. He feels a hand carding through his hair and tries to flinch away from it until he hears Wels again. "Be still."</p><p>He stops moving, his panicking breaths and racing heart the only remaining signs of his fear, his confusion. His eyes focus and he sees Wels standing over him, a strangely soft and sympathetic look on his face. Evil X furrows his brow, feels his heart begin to calm even as his mind screams at him that it's a trap.</p><p>"Lift your head for me, pet," Wels commands, his voice still soft and low, intimate instead of demanding. Evil X struggles to raise his head more than an inch, but an inch is still lifted, and he feels no lancing pain behind his eyes for failure to comply. </p><p>He recalls now, the order from Grian, the vase. Disobedience. Pain. His breath catches in his throat and his pulse seems to quicken again.</p><p>Wels strokes his hair a moment longer, softly murmured reassures so unlike the hissing threats Evil X was used to. Finally he moves his hand, cups the back of Evil X's neck and helps him lift his head further, high enough for him to undo the strap securing the bit in his mouth. "Open up."</p><p>It hurts, opening his jaw wider for Wels to remove the bit, but it feels better when he can close his mouth properly, can swallow without the taste of iron on his tongue. He lets his head drop back onto the pillow with a soft huff, his eyes slipping closed as the meager adrenaline in his blood seems to fade away. </p><p>"You hurt yourself quite a bit before we stopped you," Wels says. Evil X thinks he recalls. His fingers clawing at his wrists in penance, his teeth gnawing on his tongue when the council held him down. He feels Wels take his wrist delicately into his hand, feels the bandages that must have been applied sometime after he'd blacked out, and hears the soft metallic scraping of a key in a lock as his King removes his shackles. "I was worried, my Prince."</p><p>Prince. Prince-Consort, that was his full title. Wels only ever called him Consort. He feels his face flush, feels it flush even more at his own pathetic reaction to the tenderness his King was treating him with. He moans weakly. "M-my King..."</p><p>"Shh," Wels hushes. It's not enough of an order to quiet Evil X. </p><p>"I apologize... for my transgressions, my King," he says, although he isn't sure what has compelled him to volunteer an apology.</p><p>"There is no need for that," Wels says, raising Evil X's arm to his lips. He feels his King press a kiss to the bandages that cover his wrist, feels another weak moan crawl up his throat that Wels shushes like before. He lays Evil X's arm across his belly before crossing to the other side of the bed. He unshackles his arm, presses another gentle kiss to his wrist as he had his other before laying it over the first. </p><p>He feels Wels's arm under his knees, another under his back and feels himself lifted off the bed with a sickening lurch in his stomach.</p><p>"Let's get you into a proper bed, shall we, my Prince?" Wels says.</p><p>Evil X thinks that he should fight against it. He thinks he should not allow Wels to carry him back into the castle proper without putting up a struggle. </p><p>He settles against Wels's chest and allows himself to drift back into a dreamless sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Evil X plays the game, and he plays it well, but there is no  competing when your opponent is a dirty cheat. If you can’t beat them, join them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a knock on the door, and with a heavy sigh Evil X says, "Come in."</p><p>He lays spread out upon the King and Queen's plush bed, staring dully up at the canopy, looking but not seeing the folds and the intricate, golden embroidery along the drapery's length. He feels restless, but his King has ordered him on bed rest for the day after his episode the previous eve, and the most he can do to relieve his boredom is roll onto his side and find something new to stare at. At least Wels had the courtesy to let him do his resting on a real bed rather than in his cage tucked in the corner of the bedchambers. It felt nice, almost loving, to curl up between the King and Queen in bed that night. Now though, alone and trapped by his orders, he would give anything just to be able to stand up. Even sleep in the chilly hallway for a month. Maybe even longer.</p><p>The door opens and a meek looking servant enters, a tray of steaming food in her hands and a basket hooked over her elbow. Of course Wels would have to have food sent up to him, but he can't for the life of him figure out what could be in the basket. </p><p>The servant greets him with a curtsy, and Evil X blinks. It was perhaps the most polite greeting he'd received since the King had captured and collared him. Most of the castle staff had no problems making their derision for him known. To them it appeared he had no job at all aside from looking pretty for their King. If only they knew how little autonomy came along with being Prince-Consort to King Wels, to wearing his collar with his gem and its constant reminder of who he belonged to.</p><p>"Good afternoon, Consort," the servant says. Evil X blinks at her again. He's not deliberately trying to be rude, of course, but he still can't seem to wrap his mind around her airy niceties. </p><p>She doesn't wait for a reply from him before approaching the bed, setting the tray beside him, then the basket. Evil X pushes himself up on his elbows, and from his new angle can see the fresh bandages and various bottles of potions and ointments lining the bottom of the basket.</p><p>"His Majesty wants to make sure you're healing good and proper," the servant explains. Evil X lets himself drop back onto the pillows with a huff. Of course when the wounds were not his handiwork the King cared about whether or not they left a permanent mark on his Consort. Evil X is half tempted to scratch his wrists open again to insure he's marred by ugly scars that Wels could not claim as his own. </p><p>Instead, he offers his arm to the servant as she removes several bottles from the basket. She takes it, rewards him with a soft little smile that makes his heart flutter stupidly in his chest, and carefully unwraps the bandages. Her smile melts away into a frowns when she sees his wrists uncovered, and she clucks her tongue in a disapproving way that makes Evil X want to snap at her.</p><p>"Goodness gracious, you look like you've had a run in with a feral dog," she says, picking up one of the bottles and uncapping it, dipping her fingers into whatever gooey salve it is within. Evil X wishes he knew a damn thing about medicine, if only so he could take care of his wounds himself and tell the servant to leave him in peace. </p><p>"Just myself," he responds dully. </p><p>The servant mouths a silent<em> "oh" </em> and busies herself with smearing the salve on his wrist, her face red with embarrassment. He expects it to sting, but it doesn't. It's cool. It feels good. He sighs and relaxes, shivers at her gentle ministrations. For a brief moment he imagines it's Wels standing by his side, working medicine into his scabbed wrist and calling him <em> my Prince. </em> He frowns and shakes the image from his mind, tries to imagine anyone else in Wels's place.</p><p>"Are you... well, Consort?" the servant asks. He glances at her, catches her averting her eyes back to her work just a moment too late.</p><p>"Are you asking if I'm afflicted by lunacy?" </p><p>If possible, the servant's cheeks grow even redder. "I mean no offense, Consort! It's just..."</p><p>"Just what?" Evil X says. "I suppose you can't imagine why someone might be unhappy enough to off themself when this is the bed they may wake in every morning, can you?"</p><p>"I would never suggest something so uncouth...!"</p><p>Evil X huffs. "Of course not. I certainly haven't heard worse from any of the other staff."</p><p>The servant is silent as she wraps his wrist in fresh bandages. Evil X turns his gaze back to the canopy. She finishes with his wrist, crosses to the other side of the bed where she begins the process again, delicately unwrapping his other wrist, careful not to pull on his wounds.</p><p>"...Are you, Consort?" the servant asks hesitantly.</p><p>"Am I what? A lunatic?"</p><p>"Are you unhappy?"</p><p>Evil X blinks slowly at the canopy. He feels the servant gently run her fingers over his wounds, feels his own fingers twitch involuntarily at her touch. "What reason would I have to be unhappy? My King has elevated me above all others. I'll never want for anything. I'm the envy of all those around me."</p><p>He feels the cool salve on his wrist, shivers again as the servant's fingers glide over his skin.</p><p>"What did you do?" the servant asks. "Before, I mean. Before you were His Majesty's consort. What were you?"</p><p>Evil X swallows hard, feels the band of his collar press against his throat as he does. He was a lot of things, before. A failed experiment. Xisuma's shadow. A petty thief. So lowly, so worthless. He truly shouldn't want for anything here with his King.</p><p>"...I was free."</p><p>__</p><p>Another rainy day. Evil X finds himself taking up space in the kitchen again, leaning against his favorite abandoned counter and watching the rain. He takes a bite out of the carrot he'd plucked off a cook's cutting board and ignores the gossip he hears drifting across the room to him.</p><p>"—tried to off himself—"</p><p>"—ungrateful whelp—"</p><p>"—completely mad—"</p><p>He almost regrets coming here. He regrets being as candid as he was with the servant when she visited him to change his bandages. Then again, he's not sure the rumors would be any kinder if he hadn't been. He was finding more and more that he preferred the company of his King. </p><p>As long as he paid attention when Wels spoke to him, as long as he obeyed him, he could almost be pleasant to be around. Evil X feels goosebumps at the memory of Wels's lips against his wrist, gentle kisses and murmured praise befitting true royalty. He's starting to wonder if it was worthwhile to weather the abuse the rest of the castle staff hurled at him just to get away from his King. Unlike Wels, they seemed to afford him no kindness, regardless of how cooperative he was. Even the kind servant had been unable to help herself when the opportunity to further sabotage his reputation arose.</p><p>"Hey, Consort," he hears called, and glances away from the window, towards the speaker to see a group of cooks watching him. "Are you just going to stand there all day taking up space, or are you going to make yourself useful?"</p><p>Evil X sneers at the cook. "And what would you have me do?"</p><p>The cook motions to the cutting board on his counter—the very one Evil X had stolen a carrot from—and to the vegetables that remained. "Finish chopping these for me," the cook nods to the carrot still in Evil X's hands. "and that, while you're at it."</p><p>Another cook snorts and adds, "Chop up those useless fingers of yours too when you're done. See how much the King likes you with one less way to pleasure him."</p><p>Evil X clenches his teeth, his grip on the carrot tightening. An order, and no clear way out of it. He shouldn't have come here, not today. He should learn when to keep his mouth shut.  He pushes off his counter and shoves past the cooks. "Move, then!"</p><p>The cooks disperse, muttering insults as they go with rolled eyes.</p><p>"—entitled brat—"</p><p>"—should put his smart mouth to use—"</p><p>"—probably run crying to the King again—"</p><p>Evil X's fingers shake almost imperceptibly, but he can feel the tremor all the way up to his shoulder, all the way into his chest where his heart already pounds. He picks up the knife the cooks had abandoned, carefully lifts it in one hand, along with one of the vegetables they'd left for him in the other. An onion. </p><p>They hadn't given him instructions on how to chop the vegetables. He sets the onion on the cutting board, slowly and carefully cutting it into thin, uneven slices. When he finishes he takes his pile of slices and cuts them again until he has a heap of little cubes sitting in front of him. He chops them again, until they're minced. A glance around the room. For once, there isn't a single pair of eyes on him. He swallows, and brushes the minced onion aside.</p><p>One more onion. Two parsnips. Two carrots, including the one he's already half-eaten. Evil X takes a deep breath and brings the second onion to his cutting board. Slices. Cubes. Mince. Another glance, and still no sign of reprieve.</p><p>He takes a parsnip, cuts it longways. Cuts it into slices. Too thin on one side, too thick on the other. His hand is shaking now, and he can't seem to get the knife to cut it into any smaller pieces. He takes the next parsnip, repeats the process, the slices all thick this time. He can't manage the precision a thinner slice requires. A glance. Still no out.</p><p>He picks up a carrot, the whole one, and cuts it like the parsnips. Longways. Slices. They won't cook down very well at this size. He's fairly certain they'll be thrown out to compost once they're soaked through with his blood. He imagines his own fingers among the rotten vegetables and waste, the flies and maggots that would fill their bellies on his flesh. A strangled whimper crawls up his throat. He doesn't dare look and see who's eyes are in the back of his head now. </p><p>The half-eaten carrot is all that remains. Less carrot to chop. Less time to stall. He goes as slow as he can manage, carefully lining the blade up for as even a cut as he can get his shaking fingers to provide, every <em> thock </em> of the blade against wood pounding in his ears louder than the last. It feels like only seconds before he's done. </p><p>He feels lightheaded, like he's already bleeding out. He's not sure he's still breathing. He clears the cutting board. He places his hand flat on its surface. Evil X places the tip of the blade against the wood, poised above his fingers to cut them off at the first knuckle. </p><p>"Hey, hey, hey, stop! Consort—Evil X, stop!" He hear shouted, and a relieved cry spills out of him at the command. He freezes, the knife centimeters away from his fingers.</p><p>A hand comes down on his shoulder, grip tight, almost bruising. Another wraps around his own on the knife, and begins gently easing it away from him. He recognizes Beef's voice when he speaks again, murmured reassurance so low he almost doesn't hear it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. "There we go... It's okay. You're okay."</p><p>He finally pries the knife from Evil X's stiff fingers, hesitates for a moment before setting it aside, just out of Evil X's immediate reach. "C'mon, why don't we get you someplace quiet to sit down for a minute?"</p><p>Evil X nods, but otherwise remains stock still. After a moment, Beef adds, "Can you move?"</p><p>Evil X shakes his head. Not until someone orders him to. He opens his mouth to explain, but no sound comes out.  </p><p>"Okay, uh, okay," Beef says. "Go to the pantry, Evil X."</p><p>"Okay," Evil X croaks, and turns on his heel, marching into the pantry with his head low. He doesn't want to see whatever judgment the rest of the staff is watching him with. </p><p>He feels Beef following him, knows they are alone now, and some part of him recalls his previous fears about this very scenario. He walks all the way to the back of the pantry, presses himself against the wall as if to ground himself, slides down until he's curled up in a tight ball when that isn't enough. "He ordered me..."</p><p>"It wasn't you. I know." Beef says, stopping a few feet away from him. "You... you have to do what people tell you, don't you?"</p><p>Evil X nods.</p><p>He hugs his knees, shrinks in on himself a little more, waiting for Beef to process the information, to realize what that means for him and for Evil X. He waits for Beef's orders to come. </p><p>Beef kneels too, makes himself small, nonthreatening. "Can I come closer? Would that be okay?"</p><p>Evil X furrows his brow, glancing at Beef like he hadn't heard his words correctly.</p><p>"You can say no," Beef adds. </p><p>Evil X says nothing. He buries his face in his arms and takes a deep breath, waiting for Beef's patience to run thin.</p><p>"Okay. I'll stay over here." Beef says instead. Evil X glances at him long enough to watch him shuffle backwards until his back finds a shelf to lean against before his face is hidden in his arms again.</p><p>It's silent between the two of them, only broken by the sounds drifting into the pantry from the kitchen. Evil X thinks the cooks might be talking about him again, but for some reason he can't quite make out the words. He swallows hard.</p><p>"You know my name," He finally says. He thinks most of Wels's court did, at some point. None of them ever used it anymore. </p><p>"Um. Yeah." Beef responds sheepishly. "Was that okay? I don't want to get you in trouble."</p><p>"Why are you being kind to me?" Evil X demands, pulling his head away from his arms again to watch Beef. Beef blinks at him.</p><p>"Should I not be?"</p><p>"No one else is," Evil X says.</p><p>"Well, I'm not like everyone else," Beef says. Evil X glares skeptically. Beef taps his throat. "I don't have one of these, for one thing."</p><p>It takes Evil X a moment to realize Beef is referring to his collar, and to the crown gem embedded in it. Evil X brings his fingers up to his own throat, runs them over the smooth cut of the gem.</p><p>"Neither does most of the staff," Evil X says. "Some of my King's council doesn't either. Did you know that?"</p><p>Beef lets his gaze drop to the stone floor. "I know."</p><p>Silence falls between them again. Evil X keeps his eyes down, unfocused, waiting, but whatever he expects Beef to do now that he knows Evil X's secret doesn't come. He takes another furtive peek at Beef and finds himself being watched, the same concerned look in his eyes that he wore the last time Evil X found himself spending a rainy day in the kitchen. He averts his gaze back to the ground.</p><p>His heart thumps unevenly in his chest. He finds it strange, this feeling of discomfort. It's been so long since anyone respected what little autonomy he has remaining. He finds himself longing for Beef to invade his space, to give him a clear command and take advantage of him. He wants the rug pulled out from under his feet sooner rather than later. </p><p>"You can come closer," Evil X says at last. </p><p>"Are you sure?" Beef asks.</p><p>He nods. He hears another shuffling sound, sees Beef in his periphery. He stops short, and Evil X feels an impatient whine build in the back of his throat.</p><p>"Can I touch you?"</p><p>Evil X gives another jerk of his head, tensing as he waits for Beef to reach out, to brush Evil X's hair out of his face, trail his fingers over his cheek, glance across his thighs. </p><p>He feels a heavy but comfortable weight settle between his shoulder blades. Beef rubs soothing circles into his back. "It's okay, Evil X. I won't... make you do anything. I won't hurt you. I promise."</p><p>Promises meant nothing even before he'd been collared and caged. They were easy to break. This one was no different. He doesn't trust it. He doesn't trust Beef.</p><p>Evil X turns and embraces Beef, buries his face against the man's neck and breaths in his scent. Beef hesitates, his hands hovering inches from Evil X's body, unsure where to place them. Evil X presses a kiss against the juncture between neck and shoulder, nibbles lightly on the skin there until Beef's hands find themselves resting on Evil X's hips. </p><p>He doesn't trust Beef, but that doesn't mean he couldn't enjoy this illusion of control while it lasted.</p><p>__</p><p>"Consort."</p><p>Evil X turns his attention to his King, is greeted by a hand threading through his hair, playing with the ends.</p><p>"Did you cut your hair, Consort?"</p><p>"Yes, my King," Evil X says, feeling a pit of anxiety in his stomach begin to grow.</p><p>Wels hums. The sound has never felt more like a threat. "You'd be lovely with long hair, Consort, don't you think?"</p><p>Evil X hates having long hair. He looks too much like Xisuma as it was. If not for their eyes they would be completely identical. Xisuma wears his hair long, so Evil X does not. </p><p>Evil X glances at the mirror across the room, at the green sapphire sitting on his throat, and wonders if the gem had always been meant for him, or if perhaps originally Wels intended it for another. He thinks a ruby would have matched his eyes better than sapphire.</p><p>Evil X swallows hard and says, "Yes, my King."</p><p>"You should grow it out for me, my Prince," Wels says.</p><p>A statement. Not a command. Not yet.</p><p>Evil X does not want to grow his hair out. He so desperately does not. </p><p>"Yes, my King. I will. For you."</p><p>At least this way it would feel like he still had a choice.</p><p>__</p><p>His King's fingers through the band of his collar choke him, bend him at an awkward angle that makes it difficult to keep up with his King's quick pace. He's pulled down the narrow staircase into the dungeon, and he finds himself wondering once more what on earth he's done to warrant whatever punishment he's surely about to endure.</p><p>When they reach the bottom Wels throws Evil X to the ground, his knees and elbows cracking against the stone floor as he lands. He gasps at the sharp pain sent up his limbs, then just seconds later all the air is forced back out of his lungs by the King's boot in his gut. He coughs, and it takes all his strength to remain on his hands and knees, not face first on the floor. </p><p>"Stay down, Consort," his King commands.</p><p>"Yes, my King," Evil X spits back in response. As if he had any choice in the matter. He feels the King's fingers curl into his hair, feels his head yanked back and gasps again. His mocking tone had not gone unnoticed.</p><p>"Talking back, are we Consort?" Wels growls. </p><p>"No, my King," Evil X says. Wels releases his hold, shoves Evil X's head away, and Evil X lets it hang limply, blinking away the pained tears in his eyes where Wels could not see it, could not taunt him for it. </p><p>"Do not lie to me, Consort. It's unbecoming of someone of your status." Wels says. Evil X says nothing. Sharp pain blooms in his face, and a second later he registers that his King has just kicked him again. He tastes copper in the back of his throat, feels blood dripping from his nose onto the floor.</p><p>"Take off your shirt, Consort."</p><p>His shaking fingers find the hem of his tunic and he begins to tug it up over his head, even as the motion causes a wave of dizziness to crash through him, even as he sways and nearly loses his balance. His face throbs painfully, and his ears are already ringing. He knows what to expect next. Part of him prays that he loses consciousness before it's done.</p><p>He's barely dropped his tunic to the floor when he hears a sharp crack near his head. He jumps at the sound, curses himself under his breath for his reaction. Feels a growl in the back of his throat along with his blood as he imagines the satisfied smirk Wels wears on his face. What he wouldn't give to be the one standing above Wels, whip in hand, his King kneeling before him, bloody and shaking and begging for mercy. </p><p>The lash comes down across his back and he jumps again, a yelp ripping out of his throat as he does. Too distracted by his own thoughts to prepare himself. His head already feels too foggy to focus. He feels the whip once more, and it pulls another strangled sound out of his mouth.</p><p>"I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Consort," Wels says, another lash punctuating his words. Evil X clenches his teeth against the pain. "My Chef tells me that the little tryst in the pantry was your idea."</p><p>He tenses, waiting to feel the whip against his shoulder blades again, but no pain comes. He thinks his King must be testing him, tricking him, waiting for him to let his guard drop, but the next thing he knows his head is once more being yanked back by a fist in his hair. He chokes on the blood from his nose as it drains into his throat at this new angle, coughs and sputters in his King's face and prays it doesn't earn him more lashes.</p><p>"Is this true, Consort? Was it your idea?"</p><p>The King's words play back in his mind, <em> do not lie to me, Consort, </em> and he knows he could not even if he had wanted to.</p><p>"Yes, my King," he croaks. </p><p>Wels shoves his head down again, and this time he collapses with a groan. He wonders if perhaps his King will have mercy on him just this once if he plays dead, lays in a shuttering heap on the stone floor, cold seeping into his bare skin as warm blood seeps out. </p><p>"On your knees, Consort," Wels spits. "I'm not done with you yet."</p><p>He's not sure it's an order he has the strength to obey. Even still, he drags his arm out from under his own dead weight and pushes himself up onto his knees, nearly collapsing in the other direction as he does. He feels the lash against his back before he's finished steadying himself and he lets out a howl of pain.</p><p>"My King, please—!" Evil X gasps, even as his face flushes hot at his own desperation.</p><p>"Please what, Consort?" Wels asks.</p><p>"Please... my King..." Evil X says again. "Please... I.... I apologize for my transgressions. Please..."</p><p>There's silence between them, and for a moment Evil X nearly relaxes. Then he feels another strike against his back and yelps, arching away from the whip with a cry. </p><p>"If you are truly repentant, Consort, then you will accept whatever punishment I deem fit."</p><p>Another lash, and another cry. </p><p>"Yes, my King..." Evil X gasps. "I will endure to not misbehave again."</p><p>Another lash, then another, and another. Another. He loses track of just how many times his King strikes him. Evil X's throat hurts from screaming. He's not sure how much more he can take. It feels so much worse than last time. He feels like he can't breathe. He lets his eyes slip closed. He waits for the next strike. </p><p>It doesn't come. He doesn't relax. He waits. He knows it's coming. He won't let his King catch him off guard. It still doesn't come. </p><p>Fingers grab his jaw, forcing his head up, and Evil X's eyes snap open. He tries to focus his gaze on his King, but his head is too hazy, his vision too blurry. He blinks slowly at him, realizes if Wels is in front of him that means he can't be behind him to whip him, and finally lets go of the tension in his body.</p><p>Wels hums as he examines Evil X. He imagines what Wels must see. Dazed eyes, broken nose, dried blood. Not a very pretty consort anymore. "Have you been punished enough, Consort?" </p><p>"I..." Evil X starts. He doesn't know how to answer. There was a right answer. What was it? What <em> was </em> it? He doesn't know. He just wants Wels to stop. He doesn't think anything he can say will make that happen. He feels tears build in his eyes, blurring Wels's image even further. When he speaks again the words are nearly choked by a sob. "I accept. Wh-whatever punishment. You deem fit. For my—my behavior. My King."</p><p>The fingers under his jaw move then, move to cup his cheek, and Evil X presses his face against his King's palm. He pays no mind to the blood and tears that transfer from his skin to his King's. He hopes that Wels will forgive him this as well.</p><p>"Poor thing," Wels murmurs. "I'm not done with you yet."</p><p>Another hiccuping sob rips from Evil X, raking his shoulders, aching in his spine, and he presses his face harder against Wels's hand, a desperate, silent plea for mercy. "I ap-apolo-apologize for—for my tr-transgr-gressions my—my King. I apologize, I apologize, I apologize—"</p><p>"Put your shirt on, Consort."</p><p>Evil X's begging dies on his lips as his fingers reach blindly for wherever it is his tunic had fallen. His heart pounds in his chest as he wonders what else his King has planned for him. </p><p>It hurts, the fabric of his tunic over his wounds. It sticks in his blood, pulls against what's already congealed on his skin until they flow afresh with red, and that pulls against his skin too. He feels Wels's fingers dig into the back of his shirt, feels them scratch against his lashes, and he screams again as he's dragged to his feet.</p><p>"On your feet, Consort. Come with me." Wels says, his hand still fisted in the back of his shirt, still dragging him along deeper into the dungeons. He tugs Evil X along faster every time he stumbles and trips, small whines and yelps following each one.</p><p>They come to another room in the dungeons, not a cell, but no less foreboding with the shackles hanging from the walls, the rack of tools, the table in the center of the room lined with a row of various kitchen knives and a figure bent over it, hand trapped in a cuff attached to its surface. Evil X feels his stomach drop again when the figure looks up and he recognizes the cook that had ordered him to cut his own fingers off. Wels shoves Evil X forward, and he nearly falls over his own feet.</p><p>"Pick a knife, Consort. Whichever one you want." Wels says, like he's offering to purchase Evil X a show pony or a purebred hound. Evil X shuffles closer to the table, glances along the line of knives until his eyes land on the rectangular bone cleaver at the end of the row. It would make the quickest work of the job he knows he's being asked to do. It would be the cleanest cut. He picks it up and hears the cook whimper fearfully as he does. </p><p>Wels hums, but Evil X can't seem to get his thoughts in order enough to consider what he means by it. He doesn't try. He just waits for the order he knows is coming.</p><p>"Cut his fingers off."</p><p>The cook screams and tries to yank his hand free from the shackle. Evil X swallows and takes hold of the man's wrist, pinning his hand to the table with what little strength he had remaining after his own beating. He presses hard, until the cook's fingers are flat, then positions the cleaver at the base of them. He'll make it clean. He'll make it quick. One cut. Then it would be over. His eyes are unfocused. He doesn't want to watch himself mutilate this man. </p><p>"I'm sorry," he mumbles. </p><p>He brings the cleaver down on the cook's fingers.</p><p>__</p><p>There's a knock on the door, and Evil X says nothing. </p><p>He lays curled up upon the King and Queen's plush bed, and imagines himself in the bed of another. Someone who loves him, cares for him. He pulls a pillow close and imagines its his lover, imagines himself burying his face against their chest as they lay together on a lazy morning, sunlight through the curtains warming them as much as they warm each other. His back doesn't ache with still healing lashes. His lover would never hurt him. When his lover adorns him with pretty jewels, he wears them with pride. He doesn't hide away from them, nor imagine their pillows as another, warmer body to embrace.</p><p>The door opens and he hears a quiet, <em> "oh" </em> from across the room. He cracks open an eye to see the servant that had attended to him while he recovered from his self-inflicted wounds. He closes his eye again and settles against the pillows, intent on ignoring her while she tidied the room around him. </p><p>"I didn't expect you in here, Consort," she says. Evil X grunts in response. He hears her shut the door, hears her footsteps as she starts in on her tasks. "It's a nice day out. I thought you would want to take advantage of the weather."</p><p>Sunny, he knows, because he can feel the light through the window, warm, yet not warm enough, not warm like a lover's embrace. The observation gives him pause, and he cracks open his eyes again, glances at the servant who seems oddly invested in maintaining the King and Queen's bedchambers now. Weather permitting, he usually filled his free time in the garden, one of the few places he could pretend he was free.</p><p>"What makes you think I care what the weather is like?"</p><p>"Don't you like to spend time in the garden?" The servant asks, her tone airy and yet all too forced. </p><p>"How do you know that?" he responds. She pauses in her work, and before she can answer him he continues. "The rumor mill isn't that interested in how I spend my day to day."</p><p>The servant is silent for a moment, and when she finally speaks her words are stilted, carefully chosen. Rehearsed in her mind. Not the whole truth. Maybe not any amount of the truth. "Just a guess, Consort. If I had the time I would want to spend it in the garden too."</p><p>Evil X sits up and watches the servant as she continues to moves about the room. She's tense, he can see it from here. Perhaps she didn't like being watched while she worked. Perhaps it was something else. He narrows his eyes at her. </p><p>"Of course, I'd much rather be outside the castle grounds entirely," she says, the same calculatingly casual tone as before. "Wouldn't you, Consort?"</p><p>"You know the answer to that," Evil X says. He didn't know what game she was playing at, but he refused to implicate himself in any disloyalty to his King. He recalls the petty insults of the cooks last time he had visited the kitchens, and knows she is not to be trusted.</p><p>"Perhaps there's someone you miss that you'd like to see again," she continues. She pauses again, turns to glance at Evil X. "Is there?"</p><p>Evil X glares. "What do you want?"</p><p>"...I can get you out, Evil X," she says, and his heart misses a beat at the sound of his own name. </p><p>"You're lying."</p><p>"I'm not lying. I'm with the rebellion. With Xisuma."</p><p>Evil X looks away, grits his teeth. He wants to scream at her for invoking that name. "There is no rebellion."</p><p>"There is, Evil X. I can get you out."</p><p>Evil X clenches his fists in the duvet. "...How?"</p><p>"Meet me in the undercroft tonight, after nightfall," she says, an answer and a command. Then once more, a reassurance. "I can get you out."</p><p>__</p><p>Evil X's knock is hesitant, demure against the hardwood of the door to his King's study. His fingers tremble with anxiousness, so he keeps his hands held in tight fists until the pressure of his finger nails on his palms hurts. It feels like an age before he hears muffled from the other side, "Enter."</p><p>He opens the door with the same hesitance as he knocked, sidles into the room without opening it too widely, without disturbing his King's privacy. He chances a glance up at his King, and sees a curiosity in those looking back at him, a softness beneath icy blue. "Consort. I wasn't expecting you."</p><p>He never sought his King out. He only spent time with the man when summoned, when ordered, when he had no other choice. He finds he isn't sure how he's meant to greet his King, in such circumstances, and he offers a slight bow of his head. "My King..."</p><p>"Come here, Consort," Wels orders, but it's a soft command, like the rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls, like his King's golden hair beneath his fingers when he allows his Consort to return his touch. Evil X comes forward, crosses the room until he's standing beside his King. "Sit."</p><p>Wels motions to a chair and Evil X gratefully takes it, sitting down almost discreetly if he wasn't being carefully watched by the only other party in the room. He keeps his eyes downcast, almost shameful.</p><p>"You look troubled, my Prince," Wels says. Evil X lets out a breath so harsh it's nearly a whine. His face feels flushed. He feels an inexplicable urge to be held by his King, held as he was after his episode in the council meeting, to feel his fingers carding through his hair, to hear himself called my Prince, my Prince, my Prince. He wants his King's praise. He wants to be prized. He doesn't want to be hurt anymore.</p><p>"I am troubled, my King," Evil X says. He looks up into Wels's eyes again. He swallows hard at the harsh gaze that stares back, the clenched fist resting on the surface of the desk. He knows there is no turning back, once he says what he's come here to say.</p><p>"There is a traitor in the castle, my King."</p><p>__</p><p>The undercroft was barren on a good day, the only light to illuminate the cellar filtering in past cobwebs and dust coming from high, recessed windows hiding in alternating arches. On a good night, it was so dark one couldn't see their hand in front of their face. On this night, there was life. Flickering torchlight almost hidden behind a column at the far end of the sprawling space. It isn't hard to pick out for the King and his guard. </p><p>The servant is dragged from her place by the guards, gloved fingers tearing at her sleeves, digging into her skin the more she fights and squirms. She meets the red-eyed gaze of the King's Consort for just a moment before he turns away, steadfastly refusing to look at her, and when the King's hand rests on his shoulder with praise rather than punishment, she knows that she's been betrayed.</p>
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